


Saving Grace

by name_me_regret



Series: June Summer Prompt Challenge [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, James Buchanan Barnes centric, June Summer Prompt Challenge, Prompt # 15, Prompt # 20, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/name_me_regret/pseuds/name_me_regret
Summary: James Barnes isn’t alright. He’s pretty sure he has PTSD, but there are more important things to worry about. Like, why is a fourteen year old offering him a squished sub?Or: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes loses his arm, and somehow ends up homeless after being discharged, and Peter Parker saves him in more ways than one.





	1. Running Scared

**Author's Note:**

> I like Winter!Dad series by [pansley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansley/pseuds/pansley), and this was sort of inspired from that. If you haven’t read ‘Astronomy In Reverse’, then read it. It’s so good.
> 
> This is likely going to be short chapters, and I hope to finish it quickly.

**Saving Grace**

20\. Guitar; spin class; lemonade

\- - - -

_“But you don’t have to be here anymore._  
_So, what you gonna do?_  
_Just go and call it off,_  
_but what if you try another way?_  
_Just take a little advice from me_

_Whatever you do, just don’t believe_  
_what they say..._  
_‘Cause they don’t believe in you_  
_like I believe in you anyways._

Just don’t believe what they say...”

~What They Say, Zara Larsson

\- - - -

James Buchanan Barnes sat in the wheelchair while the pretty nurse wheeled him outside, the large blonde man keeping pace beside him, speaking normally. He wondered how he could speak so calmly, sound so normal, when normal was further from the truth.

He didn’t look at it, the empty sleeve where his arm should be, but wasn’t there anymore. There wasn’t much that he remembered of when it happened. He remembered an explosion, followed by the ringing in his ears likely from his eardrums having busted, and the sharp _‘pop-pop-pop’_ of gunfire. It was like he was watching himself outside of his body, picking up his rifle as he fell against the side of the Humvee, pointing and firing in the general direction of where the shots were coming from. It was hard to see and hear, the hot desert air filled with the burning stench of fire, and possibly burning human flesh.

Then he was falling, feeling more than one shot hitting his arm, just below the shoulder, and Steve screaming his name. There was sand and blood in his mouth as he lay on the hot, sandy ground, painted scarlet from his blood, and the blood of their friends.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening, no one should have known they were there; about this mission. There were few who knew about it, and now James was dying in the middle of a desert wasteland, far away from friends and family, and everything he had ever known. He was dying for a war he wasn’t even sure he believed in.

There it was a confusion of half-conscious, blurred memories, and an uncertain amount of time after that James opened his eyes. He was in a medical tent, his shoulder wrapped up tight, and something very essential missing. Then the agony had come fierce and he’d mercifully floated on a haze of the drugs, and when he’d woken again, he was back in US soil with an honorable discharge.

He’d learned later that Steve had dragged him to the remaining vehicle along with the few surviving members of their unit and gotten them back to safety. James heard that he was being considered for the Congressional Medal of Honor, and being hailed an American Hero.

James would be the first person to defend his childhood friend, because ever since they’d been kids it was James that would save his scrawny ass. Then he’d bulked up in high school, hitting a late growth spurt, and they’d started defending one another. Joining the Army together had seemed to be the sensible thing to do, and while James had wanted to join the Marines, he also wanted to stick with Steve. So, they’d joined the Army. They’d always had one another’s back.

Now, however, he couldn’t help but be a bit bitter about everything since losing his arm, losing many close friends, and then given a discharge and a kick in the ass. Oh, he knew that he’d get veteran benefits, would be able to finish the degree he’d started on mechanical engineering, and the Army would pay for everything. He just... he wasn’t alright.

At times, it felt like he was still there in that hot desert, with the gunshots and the screams, and his friends dying around them. And he couldn’t deal. His therapist was nice, and Sam Wilson had come highly recommended. He was air force, but he worked with all branches of the military, helping the men and women that had been injured serving their country. Sam encouraged his patients to do normal mundane things, such as read books, watch a movie, or possibly join in the spin class that was given by a woman that had a resting murder face named Natasha. He was good at his job, but James just couldn’t talk to him.

“Bucky, did you hear what I said?” Steve’s voice jarred him from his self-destructive thoughts. “I said that I found my old guitar. Remember when we tried to form our own rock band?” he asked with a strained laugh. The broad-shouldered man had crouched in front of his wheelchair, face a mask of genuine concern. It was the same one he was use to, having had it even when he was a tiny blonde spitfire that was too wild for his own good, always picking fights he could never win because it was the right thing to do. At times, James missed those days the most, summer days filled with laughter and mischief as James’s mother shrieking that he was going to get paddled if he didn’t stop. And James and Steve were laughing, laughing and it had been perfect.

Steve sighed as he looked at his friend, seeing his faraway look and stood. “I’m going to go get us something to drink, alright?” Steve told him. “You still drink pink lemonade like a heathen?” Steve joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe something to eat?” His friend was looking thinner than he had ever seen him, and every time he came to see him, he didn’t seem to be getting any better. He was due to ship out in a week and wanted to see him improve.

He sighed when his friend didn’t answer, quietly telling the nurse that he’d be right back. She nodded as she sat on the bench behind the wheelchair and waited. Meanwhile, James stared at his lap, lost in thoughts and memories of the past.

It was the sound of a pop that snapped him out of it, and in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t the same _’pop-pop-pop’_ from the desert, but it was close enough to send his heart racing. He made a noise like a wounded animal and dived out of his wheelchair, hearing the startled cry of someone. James ignored this, since he needed to take cover. They were firing at them, he was pinned down, and where was his rifle?! He was unarmed and the enemy was getting closer, and he didn’t want to die! _James didn’t want to die!_

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he yelped, lashing out with his only remaining arm, blind from terror. The feminine scream made him snap out of it, and realized with dawning horror that there wasn’t any enemy. It was only him in sweats with a hospital gown over that, and the nurse with the kind smile and kinder eyes with blood on her face from where he’d just struck her.

“Oh God... oh God,” he whined in distress, scrambling away, not hearing her platitudes, that ‘it’s alright... I’m fine’. All he knew was that he had hurt someone, had lashed out at an innocent person, and _James wasn’t alright_.

Then he was running, blind from tears and not knowing where he was going. The thought, _‘I hurt someone... I hurt someone!’_ a constant litany in his head. And finally, _’I can’t go back.’_

\- - - -


	2. Merchant of Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark meets Steve Rogers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about this chapter. It’s a bit muddled. But it’s what came to me, and I wanted to write Tony being a smart-ass, and an ass, lol

**Saving Grace**

**Prompt 15:** Cameras; social media; misunderstandings

\- - - -

 _“We’re a thousand miles from comfort._  
_We have traveled land and sea,_  
_but as long as you are with me,_  
_there’s no place I’d rather be._

 _I would wait forever._  
_Exhausted in the scene,_  
_and long as I am with you_  
_My heart continues to beat..._

_It’s a shot in the dark, but I’ll make it.”_

~Rather Be (feat. Jess Glynne), Clean Bandit

\- - - -

“I don’t really care, sir,” the blonde man told his commanding officer, standing at parade rest in front of his desk. It was more subordination than he had ever shown, since despite his reckless nature, he obeyed his superiors.

The older man sighed as he rubbed his tired eyes with a wrinkled hand. General Philips thought that he was getting too old for this, but he’d gone the career route in the Army when he’d joined at eighteen, so it was all he knew. In all those years, he had never met a more stubborn man than Captain Steven Grant Rogers. He supposed that it was a good thing, since there were a few men still alive because of that stubbornness, including the one that was being discussed at the moment.

“Captain, you have your orders, and those orders are to ship out tomorrow with your unit,” he told him again. “If you aren’t on that plane at 0700 hours, then you can guaranteed that you’ll be arrested and court marshaled.”

The tilt of his jaw and the pressed lips made the General think that there was no way he would be obeying those orders. “Sir, Buc... Sergeant Barnes is out there, scared and alone. He is part of my unit, part of the unit that went through hell getting the information of the location of Hydra’s camp. Because of that, many US soldiers were able to be saved, and now you expect me to leave Sergeant Barnes fending for himself on the streets of New York suffering from PTSD that he has because of serving his country?”

“I expect you to follow orders, Captain,” the man snapped. “You are an officer and have to lead by example!”

Steve stared at him a moment before he snapped to attention and then proceeded to take off the rank pins on his lapels. He tossed them on the desk. “Then I respectfully decline the rank of Captain and all that entails. That also includes any awards I received or will receive while wearing the rank of Captain.”

General Phillips was flabbergasted at the man’s actions. So, he did the only thing he could at the moment, he called the MP and had Captain... Private Rogers escorted to a cell. When they had left, the blonde’s eyes showing no regret, he sighed as he sat back, fiddling with the Captain pin, wondering what he was going to do with Rogers.

 

The next day he was interrupted reading his morning reports as he was buzzed by his secretary. “Yes?” he asked.

“General, Dr. Stark is here to see you,” the young woman told him. Philips eyebrows rose in surprise. “Should I sent him in?”

Philips didn’t think he had a meeting with the man, and he couldn’t think of why he’d be there. “Yes, send him in,” he told the woman.

A moment later, Tony Stark strode in, sunglasses in place, and wearing his usual tailored suit like armor, and knew this was not going to be a pleasant meeting. “General, how are you?” the man asked, shaking his hand and then sitting down. “Let’s talk business.”

He sat down after having stood to shake his hand. “What is this about, Stark?”

Stark had on his press smile almost every time he saw him, charming and disarming, which always got people to trust him. However, Phillips knew the man was a shark, and that’s what he wore right now. A sharp shark’s smile, all teeth, and he still wearing his glasses. He was sure he wasn’t going to like the outcome of this meeting at all.

The billionaire took something out of his briefcase, a stack of papers that he tossed down on his desk. “The contract the military has with Stark Industries for weapons manufacturing.”

General Phillips took it, frowning as he looked it over and it was indeed that. He also saw that there were a few highlighted paragraphs. “As you can see, I took the liberty of highlighting a few pesky clauses.” He shrugged as he crossed one leg in front of the other. “Nothing too important. It states, in laymen’s terms, that if the weapons produced for the US Army are compromised, or rather, used against the very soldiers they’re supposed to protect, the contact can be broken without any penalties.”

The man scrambled as he flipped to the pages where this was indicated, which was actually a condition set up by the US Government, so that way _they_ could break break away from Stark Industries. It also worked in reverse though. “What the hell are you talking about, Stark?” he demanded. “No weapons sold to the government have been used by terrorists.”

He had a sinking feeling the man knew more than he should, if the grin spreading across his face was any indication. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, General.” He took his phone and pulled up his twitter amp, scrolling to a tweet published by CNN. He felt a sinking in his gut as he read it. ‘U.S. Weapons in the Hands of Terrorists’. “Does the name “Brock Rumlow ring a bell?” Tony asked. He pulled up the CNN amp where there was a live boardcast happening even now, and Phillips didn’t need to hear what was happening, since he could see the headline and the picture of the mentioned man.

“His company has a private miliary contract with the US Military,” he told Tony. The man had been part of the Army Rangers, but had left after his tour had finished and then started his own company. Because of the man’s connections in the Army, he had gotten contracts with the Army quickly, and his company was used in armed conflicts and gathering intelligence. He was trustworthy, or at least, those that had hired him trusted him.

Tony pulled up something else on his phone, which he made appear behind him like a screen and he always forgot how advanced Stark Industries technology was compared to the rest of world. That’s the reason he could terminate the contract with the military without batting an eye, and SI’s stocks would likely not even budge.

The hologram were the schematics of the newest concussion weapons, as well as tactical gear looked a bit more high-tech than the General would have thought. As he watched, the man took it like a piece of paper and balled it up, tossing it to the trash icon. “Guess that won’t be needed any longer.”

“You’d put my men in danger by pulling your weapons and gear,” he growled. Stark Industries not only provided weapons, but specially made Kevlar that was light and twice as durable, and judging by those schematics he’d seen, it would not only be breathable, but have it’s own cooling system. There were also all other types of hidden weapons that the man provided that one felt like a freaking spy instead of a soldier.

Stark snorted. “Spare me the guilt tactics. My father was a patriot, he served his country well, and I have continued his legacy despite my reluctance on making weapons. I shut down the weapon manufacturing for this very reason, so the weapons my company used would not fall into the enemies hands. So our soldiers wouldn’t be dying on the end of my missiles, my guns.” He brought up the concussion weapon again, tapping on it and it showed a model of what damage a blast from the weapon could cause. “This isn’t something I want used against us, so I’d rather kill it.”

“Then what about the countries that will eventually have these weapons? Do you honestly think we won’t be targeted if our enemies get their scientists make this first? It’ll be like 9/11 all over again,” he said as he slammed his hand on the desk.

The other man’s face had gone cold. “Don’t talk to me about September 11. I was there, one of my buildings was affected by the fires after the plane crashed into the North tower,” he snapped. He leaned forward as he snatched the glasses off his face. “I made sure every single employee was evacuated, I was the last one to leave the building even when Pepper was screaming for me to get out. I made the missiles that were used to shoot down Flight 538 in 2007 when terrorists high-jacked the plane with the intend to crash it into the White House. The same plane that was labeled as having gone down due to a mechanical failure.”

His smile was vicious at seeing the General’s stunned face. “Oh yes, I know, General. You’d shudder at the amount of classified things I know, and thank whatever God is out there that I’m a patriot.” He waved his hand to dismiss the holoscreen. “Now, I’m willing to continue the contract on two conditions. The first one is obviously to capture Rumlow and all his co-conspirators, and the second is that I want the Army liaison changed.”

General Phillips cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with Clarence?”

“Besides the name Clarence? He’s a weasel, and he annoys me.” He leaned back in his seat all casual again, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, who do you have for me? Hit me with it.”

The older man pressed his lips in annoyance, trying to glare the man into submission, but Tony Stark just looked back at him, waiting. Phillips blew out his breath and leaned back in his seat, and he caught sight of the ‘Captain’ pins that Steve Rogers had removed from his lapels yesterday. “Alright, Stark, I have the perfect man for the job.”

He leaned forward. “Not to be shallow, but I’d rather he or she be hot. You gotta give me some eye candy to work with.”

Phillips sighed as he rubbed his wrinkled face with his hand, dialing the number for the holding cells. “Get Captain Rogers and bring him here,” he told the soldier that answered.

The MPs led the blonde man in, who came to stand besides Stark chair at attention. Phillips saw Stark glance over with interest, leaning back a bit, and he wondered what he was doing. He soon learned and shook his head. “I have to say, Captain Rogers, that uniform does nothing for your ass,” Stark said, grinning up when Steve looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“General, what’s going on?” Rogers asked, turning back to his commanding officer.

“Captain Rogers, this is Antony Stark, CEO-“

“Head of R&D, actually. Pepper Potts is CEO. Best choice I ever made, to be honest.”

“-of Stark Industries. He has a contract with the Military to produce weapons and tactical gear for us. You will act as his liaison,” he said, raising his hand when Steve opened his mouth to protest. “By doing do, you will remain at the New York base until further notice.”

Rogers snapped his mouth shut, which was the best thing for the moment since Phillips was getting a goddamn headache dealing with these two in so many days. “You will also search for a man by the name of Brock Rumlow as you conduct your search for Sergeant Barnes.” He knew he couldn’t stop him from looking for Barnes, but at least while he was doing that, he could also look for Rumlow. “If you find Rumlow, contact me directly. Do not engage.”

He passed him the pins, waiting for him to take it. Finally, he stretched out his hand and took them. “Yes, sir. I won’t fail you,” he said with a sharp salute.

Phillips returned the salute. “Good, see that you don’t. Now, both of you, get out of my office.”

Outside, having passed the secretary with nothing more than a nod, Steve studied Tony. “So, let’s officially introduce ourselves,” he said with a grin. “Antony Edward Stark, but call me Tony,” he said as he held his hand out.

The Captain eyed the man’s hand a moment before he took it, giving it a firm shake. “Captain Steven Grant Rogers,” he returned. “Steve is fine.”

Tony blinked. “Geez, you have a firm grip there,” he hummed as he looked him over. “You’re in pretty good shape there. What’s your secret? Pilates?”

Steve frowned. “What?” He didn’t know what the man was saying. And what the hell was even Pilates?

“Anyways, we’ll be working together from now on, I guess. I wonder if they’ll let you move into my tower, since that would make things easier for me.” He took his phone and sext a quick text faster than Steve had ever been able to handle his own phone. “So, let’s get to know one another,” he continued on as they walked down the hallway. Once outside, it was easy to see which car belonged to Stark, since it was the flashiest one there.

He turned on the car before shifting into reverse as he backed up, hit the breaks, shifted back to drive and came back into the parking spot. “By the way, who is Sergeant Barnes?”

\- - - -

Steve knew that he should just accept the situation as it looked, but he was kind of having a hard time doing so. For one, he had grown up with Bucky on the poor side of Brooklyn, and nothing had ever been given to them for free. That’s what he was use to; working and putting effort to gain something. So, he was thrown to not only have a room in Tony’s tower (his own floor, really) even if he had to live on base, and that he was also helping Steve look for Bucky.

“Well, he served his country and finding him is the least we can do it make sure he’s getting the help and benefits he deserves,” he said, shrugging nonchalant. Then he’d walked off with a frown, as if talking about feelings or anything related to it made him feel constipated.

Steve wasn’t sure about the man’s intentions. They’d already had an argument on somethings. Steve had read the file they had for him and assumed this was the type of man he still was, that partied and didn’t care for others. It had been a huge misunderstanding, but Tony had just shrugged and said he was use to people thinking they had him all figured out. He was a bit thrown by that, but had decided to drop it. Steve would eventually get to know the man better over time, and maybe not let himself be too riled by his attitude and actions.

He turned to the two boards before him, a scattering of pictures, printed social media posts, and hurriedly scribbled notes in his handwriting were pinned to them. The one on his right was where he’d been trying to track Bucky’s movements, and the one on the left were for Rumlow’s.

On Bucky’s board there was a written note he’d written about a place called ‘F.E.A.S.T.’, which meant “Food. Emergency. Aid. Shelter. Training”. It was located Chinatown, New York City. It was a well-known place for helping the homeless of New York, and according to Tony, it was owned and run by a man named Martin Li.

He strode toward the door, pulling his jacket on and grabbing the small camera that he'd bought for investigating purposes. He also snagged the keys of his bike, Bucky’s bike really, but he was holding onto it for him. Steve would return it to him when he found him, and he _would_ find him.


	3. Squished Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Barnes meets the anomaly that is Peter Parker...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was actually written before chapter two, but I figured that I had to add a bit more before I got to this part. Also, I really wanted to establish that Tony would be in this, cause how can I not? I love Tony, and while he isn't in _all_ of my fics, he's in most of them.
> 
> And while I know June is long over, I started this story in June. That’s why I’m still using the June challenge prompts for this story.

**Saving Grace**

**Prompt 8:** Candy bars; pennies; books

 _”Sometimes I have these thoughts_  
What happened to kicking back the dawn?  
And I've started fighting wars with myself  
But what's so fun about a party of one? 

_I stand tall_  
_When they want me to fall_  
_I don't care what my peers say_  
_I'm gonna do this my way._

_My way...”_

-Stand Tall - Social Repose

\- - - -

James's hair had grown out in the time that he had been on the street. It was well past his shoulders, and he would be the first one to admit that it wasn't regulation length at all. Then he would shake his head and remember that he wasn't a soldier anymore. His time spent as Sergeant James Barnes was over, and he couldn't even be certain if he was Bucky either, Steve Rogers's Army buddy.

He had never really referred to himself as that, since it was a nickname he'd acquired as a child, and everyone had just called him that. He could say with certainty that he wouldn't miss the nickname, since it sounded like the nickname of a douchebag.

He might have been biased, but it wasn't too bad living on the streets, especially when it came to begging for money. As morbid as it sounded, not having one arm caused people to be a bit extra generous to him; for they pitied him.

On good days he even got enough to buy at least five hotdogs at the street vendor. And on bad days, he could barely afford one. It was a good thing that the specific vendor he bought from accepted even the pennies that he sometimes came with. The people usually tossed coins into his old beat-up, red leather suitcase he had found in the dumpster once when he'd been dumpster diving. It reminded him of those old suitcases from the 30s or forties, and he had liked it so had taken it and after fixing the latch with some difficulty due to have one arm, it had worked perfectly. It was beat up and cracked on the surface, but it was still a good suitcase and served him for carrying his meager belongings.

He was able to tear open the lining on the inside of it, and that’s where he kept the small amount of money he’d saved up for emergencies. It was stabled discreetly closed, and while he only had $22, it was something at least. James had had $17, but had found a crumpled five dollar bill. There was no one that appeared looking for it, so he’d kept it.

There was one he had actually gotten a $20. It wasn’t found on the street, since his luck wasn’t that good, in his opinion. During a particular bad day, the winter months were fast approaching and it had been drizzling freezing rain, but James had refused to move from his spot until he could at least buy a hotdog. It had been at least two days since any real bit of food, just a nibble of leftovers here and there, and the hunger seemed to claw at his stomach that he was nauseous with it.

James was sure no one would stop to give a beggar anything when it was so miserable out, and he was prepared to go find some shelter somewhere and curl up, ignoring the hunger as best as he could. Then a shadow had fallen over him as the rain stopped falling on his head. He’d looked up from his position on the sidewalk, his spine and ass hurting something fierce from having been sitting on the concrete for so long.

She had short curly hair blue-green hair and was slightly over-weight, but her face was pretty and she was smiling as she handed him a scrap of paper. “God Bless you,” she murmured, a rainbow umbrella in her hand keeping the rain off of them both. She handed him her floppy straw hat she was wearing, which went well with her white and beige strapless dress and black leather jacket over that. “It’ll keep the rain off you a bit,” she explained.

Then she turned and walked off with nothing more than a wave, James watching her as she went, her black rain boots coming up just past her calves as they splashed through the puddles on the side walk. He turned back to the scrap of paper she’d given him, using the straw hat to keep the rain off it. It was a note written in messy handwriting. _‘I’ve been there before. It will get better.’_ There was the acronym F.E.A.S.T., and an address in Chinatown. _’A descent shelter.’_

There had also been $20 folded up with the note.

James had thanked the young woman, even if she was long gone, used the money to get him a cheap meal, and pocketed the rest of the $15.46. Then he had gone looking for this FEAST place, and it was more than descent. That night, James slept in the first bed since he’d run away from the hospital.

He’d managed to stay there for two and a half weeks. Then his PTSD had acted up when someone had shaken him awake, shoving the other person to the floor. It could have been worse and the man hadn’t been injured besides a scrape to the hand, but he had grabbed his stuff and moved on before he hurt anyone else.

That first winter was the worse, having little experience on how to survive on the streets with little to no shelter most nights. James was sure he would die some nights as he lay shivering in a cardboard box that had likely held a refrigerator at one point and now served to keep the wind off him. His breath rattled in his throat and it was just after New Years that he stumbled into a free clinic, hoping they’d help him instead of turning him away.

They did help him, giving him a strong cocktail of medicines that would fight off the infection in his lungs. When he woke, he’d realized someone had even trimmed his facial hair and washed his hair. He also saw that they’d figured out his name somehow, likely from what he had had on him.

James had found his possessions in the drawers and his clothes in the cabinets, looking like someone had made a valiant effort to wash them. He’d put them on after unhooking himself from the mostly empty saline bag, and snuck out before Steve found him.

He was very sure that Steve was looking for him, having heard a rumor of a blonde man looking for someone in the shelters, asking questions. The people on the streets always looked suspiciously on anyone asking questions, since that usually meant cop. James had heard the description and knew immediately that it was childhood friend, and that the punk was looking for him.

James thought he should go back to his own life and leave him lost. After all, he was much too damaged to be of any good to anyone.

 

It was late Spring when things changed, having been months on the street by that point. The nights still got cold, so he was grateful for his large jacket, which he’d gotten from the Salvation Army. It had been missing two buttons and had a hole in one of the front pockets that was visible on the front side of it, and likely the reason it had been donated.

It was very warm, and was grateful for it during those cold winter days. However, it was starting to get warm during the daytime, and besides not having bathed in over two weeks, he was starting to add to his stench by sweating out of his coat. That’s how he wound up in the ATM kiosk on 21st street in Queens, since it was air conditioned. It was starting to get dark so there was hardly people on the street, but the sandwich place across the street looked to be open.

His stomach grumbled in hunger, not having ate at all that day, and he’d been run off by the employees of a fast food place. He’d just wanted to use the bathroom to try and wash up. The manager had stopped him and told him the bathrooms were for paying customers. When he’d gotten out his bag of pennies and other coins, intending to buy something off the dollar menu at least, since he _was_ hungry, they’d refused him service due to his unkempt state of dress.

So, with a sigh, he’d stuffed his coins away and shuffled out of the building, some entering customers giving him a wide berth. He tried not to let their looks of disgust hurt, but he was only human. It started drizzling the moment he stepped out of the restaurant, but only lifted his face so it could soak into his scruffy beard and the little bit of his face not covered in hair.

It was late spring, practically summer already, so the water hitting the hot asphalt evaporated almost immediately, creating a bit of mist that swirled around his legs as he walked. He passed by the sandwich shop, but hurried past as the smell of meat and fresh bread cooking made him almost sick with how hungry he was.

As he wedged himself between an ATM machine and the glass wall of the bank kiosk, he took a moment to take stock of his state. His hair was longer than when he’d been at the free clinic, and his facial hair had grown all out of control again. He looked a mess, and couldn’t really blame them for having run him off. He knew he probably didn’t smell that great either.

“Hey, what’re ya doing in here, bum?” a man entering the kiosk sneered at him. The man’s face was twisted into an ugly expression that James knew very well having lived on the streets these last few months. It spoke of cruelty and enjoyment at another’s pain and suffering. So, James decided to leave.

When he tried, the man blocked his way. “People like you are a stain on society. Too lazy to work,” he growled, shoving him against the wall of the kiosk. He was shorter but stockier than James, but the veteran was use to slouching to make himself look as small as possible. Also, James was weak from no food and little sleep to fight him off. There was also his lack of an arm.

“You probably have money in there,” he said as he made a grab for his suitcase. James snarled and yanked it back, pushing at his chest with his shoulder to dislodge him but he was sturdy.

“Help!” someone yelled, and both men turned to look across the street. There were hardly any cars at the hour, rush hour having been almost two hours ago, so they saw a scrawny kid that was waving around the corner. “Over here, Officer! Someone needs help!” Now he was pointing toward them.

James’s attacker swore, shoved the one armed man once more before he left, pushing through the door and sprinting away as soon as he was outside. As for James, he slid down with a sigh of relief, but then realized that he also had to get out of here before the cop showed up and he was arrested for vagrancy.

The door opened and he tensed, thinking it was the cop, but relaxed only slightly when he saw it was the kid. He grit his teeth as he hurried over toward him, body stiffening defensively. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, brown eyes wide behind his large, black framed glasses.

James was sure the kid was close enough to smell his stench, but he didn’t make a face and only looked at him with a worried expression. He was also close enough for James to see that he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most.

Instead of answering, he started to get up before that cop caught up with him. “Hey, hey, take it easy buddy,” he squeaked, much too bold for someone so tiny. James finally managed to stand up straight. “Whoa, you’re big!”

“Get lost, kid,” he grunted gruffly, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. James didn’t remember the last time he’d spoken, much less had a real conversation with someone. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken with someone without worrying that they found him disgusting, or perhaps mentally wishing he’d go away. “Before the cop shows up.”

The blinked in confusion before he seemed to realize what he meant. “Oh, there’s no cop,” he said with a grin on his face. “I just yelled that to get that guy to leave you alone, and it worked!” he crowed proudly, bouncing a bit in excitement. He obviously thought it was a great accomplishment.

“Thanks,” James could only mutter, moving past him. He left the cool temperature of the ATM kiosk and moved across the street, any traffic having all but vanished, and walked past the sandwich shop. James sighed as he heard the scrape of sneakers behind him and turned with a scowl, finding the stupid kid following him. “What d’you want?”

The kid had stopped as soon as James had turned to look at him, and now he shifted nervously. “So, uh... are you _okay_? I mean, do you need help?” James could see the concern in his bambi brown eyes, that and worry. “Oh, I know!” he suddenly exclaimed, turning and rushing off. He stopped, hurried back. “Just wait, okay? I’ll be right back,” he told him, hands lifting as if he could make James stay right there until he returned. Then he ran off again back the way they’d just come.

James rolled his eyes at the dumb kid’s request and turned to leave, but then stopped. He growled at himself as he hesitated walking away, since he didn’t know this kid. It was just... it’d been so long since anyone had willingly spoken to him without making a face of disgust, and there hadn’t even been a single indication of malicious intent in this kid’s face. Even so, he was frustrated with himself for not leaving just because he didn’t want the teenager to be disappointed to find James gone when he came back, and something told him that he _would_ return.

So, he ducked into the alleyway next to him, plopping down on an empty crate that groaned under his weight but held fast. He leaned against the filthy wall, not at all worried about dirtying up his coat, since it was already pretty dirty. His hugged himself with his one arm and closed his eyes, his chin against his chest.

He didn’t even remember dozing off. “Mister, are you dead?” James was jerked awake by the voice, lifted his hands to ward off an attack, forgetting that he only had one arm so he probably looked crazed. Then he realized the voice was slightly familiar and he blinked a few times before turning, seeing the teen about two feet away from him, clutching two items wrapped in white paper of some kind. He was watching him with those wide doe eyes.

James was hungry enough to smell that the wrapped packages were food of some kind and his stomach growled from intense hunger, making the kid jump. “Oh, good! I thought you’d died or something,” he said with a shaky laugh, his hold tight where he was clutching the food. James was a bit baffled at how this kid he didn’t know could be worried that he had died in his sleep, which James had unfortunately seen more than once this past winter.

“You’re squishing your food, kid,” he pointed out.

He seemed confused by his words as he looked at the wrapped packages. “No, they’re already smooshed. That’s how I like my sub, and with extra pickles.” He held out what he now knew to be a squished sub to James with an earnest smile. “Here, you’re going to love it,” he chirped. His enthusiasm faded a bit as James looked up at him suspiciously instead of taking the sub.

“What d’ya want? I ain’t got anything to exchange for the food.” He’d never gotten anything for free, and didn’t trust when someone tried to give him something. It always came with strings attached and conditions of some kind. The kid’s clothes were not new or expensive, and were well worn. The jacket tied around his waist was frayed at the edges, and the sneakers looked to have seen better days. He was small for his age and thin, and looked younger due to the glasses that were too big for his face. James was well acquainted with poverty, having grown up in the poor part of Brooklyn, and he could tell this kid wasn’t exactly swimming in cash.

The kid’s head tilted in confusion. “What? I don’t want anything.” He offered the sub to him again, and it was the hunger and the close proximity of the food that made him finally take it. The boy, for whatever reason, was being earnest, so for now he would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Listen, I gotta get home, but will you be here again tomorrow?” He’d put the second sub, wrapped in a bag, into his backpack.

James had already started to eat his, uncaring about proper manners as he tore into the sandwich. He was going for his next bite when he spoke, eyeing the other suspiciously. “Why? You gonna bring more food?” It wasn’t what he should be asking, since he _should_ ask if he was planning on calling the cops on him. But he _wanted_ to ask about the food because he was hungry, and if this kid was providing it, then who was he to refuse?

“Sure, if you want?” he muttered. Then he looked at his phone and panicked. “Shit, I gotta go! See you later, mister!” The teenager ran out of the alleyway, leaving James wondering what had just happened. Also, he realized that he had forgotten to ask his name.

“Weird kid,” he mumbled, biting into the surprisingly tasty smooshed sub.

\- - - -

True to his word, the teen had returned with another sub, or at least, half of one. It seemed he bought one large sub (his usual order, and geez how much did this kid eat?) and had the sandwich maker cut it in half and wrap it individually. The second time he’d came with two packets of gummy words and two colas, both of which he offered to James. As for James, he had grunted a thanks and took them without hesitation, and any other time he’d have been too proud to take it. Well, hunger certainly changed his perspective on certain things, such as pride.

It had been a week now, and James hadn’t gone far from this general area since the promise of food was a strong one, even if it were once a day. Also, when it got dark, he could sneak into the bank kiosk and there were few people that entered during the night, so he had a cool place to sleep during most nights. If anyone came in, there was a light out in the furthest corner of the room, and thus most people didn’t see him. He was glad he hadn’t been seen and then have them call the cops on him, since that meant he wouldn’t be able to come back and that meant most likely not seeing the kid anymore.

He didn’t know when James had stopped minding the kids presence, who, he was not so surprised, liked to talk. The kid could go on and on most days while James listened. Thus far he’d learned that he went to a nerd school in Queens and that he would be a freshman in high school this fall. He was fourteen but already he was designing a medical webbing, and that it had landed him a summer internship at Stark Industries. It would start as soon as the school year finished, which was in a week’s time. He’d told James that it was just him and his aunt. He’d gone strangely quiet after that statement, and James had caught him staring at the ground morosely and had decided not to ask about it. In fact, James didn’t talk much and left the talking to Peter, which he had discovered was his name; Peter Parker who lived with his aunt, May Parker.

“So, I’m not really sure if this thing-“

“Why do you keep coming here,” James cut into what he was talking about. Peter had shut up as soon as he had spoken, since it was rare for James to speak that he tended to listen more attentively when he _did_ speak.

Peter pursed his lips as he looked down with that same look he had when he had mentioned it only being him and his aunt. The sandwich was forgotten in his hand, half eaten compared to James’s finished one, but he had been alternating a bite of it in between every few sentences. Peter shrugged at last before he spoke.

“I mean, I have Ned.. you remember I told you about Ned?” James grunted an affirmative, since with how much the kid babbled, of course he knew about Peter’s best friend. Ned was Peter’s _only_ friend, actually. James was sure he knew more of their friendship and LEGO projects than anyone else besides the kid’s aunt. They planned on joining the Decathlon and robotics club next fall, and he had a bit of a crush on a girl named Liz.

“Well, he’s going to go on trip with his family the day after summer vacation starts, so he rushes home. Even if I’ve never left New York, I’m not jealous or anything, and I’m excited for him. He’s going to get to see the Grand Canyon and he promised to bring me some rocks from the very bottom.” He paused as he bit his bottom lip, adjusting his glasses in what Bucky had come to identify as a nervous tick. “It’s just that, my aunt’s at work and with Ned so busy, I’m mostly by myself... I don’t like being by myself, you know?”

James could certainly understand what he meant, since he hated being by himself, but it was better at times to be by himself. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone if he had an episode, and there was less of a worry that he would be stabbed in his sleep for his things. James had learned to become a light sleeper since he’d started to live on the streets.

“That’s a lot of words just to say you’re lonely,” he pointed out, amused as Peter turned red. He crumpled his wrapper and tossed it toward the dumpster, but it was too far away and the wrapper didn’t make it in. “I’m not the best company for a kid to have. I’m a bum that could have robbed you, or worse.”

Peter squinted at him. “Bold of you to assume I have money,” he told him.

James huffed, trying not to smile in amusement. “You forgot the ‘or worse’ part.” He would never harm the kid, had even become fond of him, but he didn’t want him to go trying to befriend someone else. The next person might not be as nice as James. He’d hate to see the boy get hurt.

The teen shrugged. “I wouldn’t care either way.” His hand went immediately to his mouth, leading James to believe that he hadn’t meant to say that.

James’s eyes narrowed on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peter jumped up. “I gotta go! Bye!” He rushed off before James could stop him, not stopping even as the one armed man called him back. Although James snorted in amausement when Peter stopped to pick up the crumpled wrapper before tossing it in the trash and then hurrying off again.

“Little shit,” he grumbled. Then he looked where he’d been sitting and noticed that he had re-wrapped his half finished sub and left it on the crate he’d been sitting on. James shook his head but took it anyways, having no qualms about eating the boy’s leftovers. He couldn’t afford to be picky these days.

\- - - -

James frowned when he lifted his gaze to see the sun disappearing behind the buildings, pulling out a battered wristwatch from his pocket. It was missing one of it’s leather straps but still worked even if the face was cracked. The time read 7:45pm, and he was sure the sun would set soon. However, he hadn’t seen a single sign of the kid and he usually got there around 4pm, since he had his internship in the mornings now that summer had started, and damnit if James wasn’t worried at his absence. He had been worried since yesterday after the statement he’d made, having felt a chill at the words.

He hoped the kid wasn’t suicidal or anything, since he couldn’t even care for himself, never mind worrying for a strange kid that brought him food every day. It wasn’t even a sub every single day, since at times he came with four wrapped hotdogs from the hot dog stand that James liked. The kid had good taste.

It wasn’t even about the food by this point, since he generally enjoyed listening to Peter speak to him like he was a normal human being and not some dirty, homeless man. So, he was feeling restless the more time went by without any sign of Peter. He was contemplating going and searching for him when he heard flapping wings and the shrieking of some birds.

Peter hurried into the alleyway then, carrying a birdcage of all things. “Hey!” Peter gasped as he stopped and set the cage on the crate, doubling over to catch his breath.

“What is that?” James asked, mouth twisted in a frown. He knew what it was, since it appeared to be a bird cage with three parakeets inside. One was green, the second was a light blue that was almost white, and the third was blue.

Peter grinned, pushing back the glasses up his nose. “Oh! I found them!” He peered inside the cage as he watched the birds sort of fly from one perch to the other a bit before the green and light blue one started to groom one another. “They were sitting next to a dumpster! Can you believe it? Who’d throw birds away?”

James did believe it, since when people moved and they weren’t allowed pets, they found it easier to toss them aside instead of finding a home for them. He’d seen many dogs be left by a car, or a cat, and one time a gerbil. The poor thing had been eaten quickly by a pack of alley cats before he could even think of trying to save it. It never stood a chance.

“What’re you going to do with them?” James asked, having a bad feeling as he saw Peter give him a look. “No... there’s no way.” Peter’s lips puckered into a pout. “Hell no.”

\- - - -

James grumbled as the chirping birds wouldn’t let him sleep, laying underneath his usual cardboard box. The blanket he usually used to cover himself was used as a makeshift mattress, it was a warm night and with his coat on it was almost unbearable. Although, what was unbearable right now was the chirping of the birds and how they wouldn’t let him sleep, and he was seconds away from reaching inside and killing the damn things.

Only, he knew he couldn’t do that, because Peter had seemed so excited over the birds, even if he couldn’t keep them at his apartment because they weren’t allowed. So, that’s why they were here with James, and not with Peter. He should have refused, however, but the kid had a secret weapon, the sweetest puppy dog eyes that made James melt faster than an ice cream on a hot summer day.

So, when the sky lightened, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Peter showed up earlier than most days, since he had his internship in the mornings. Then he remembered that it was Saturday and he had the whole day free. “I got this book from the public library,” he said with a grin as he took out a book.

The cover had a color picture of a green parakeet and the title read ‘Budgies: A Guide to Caring for Your Parakeet’ and it was by a woman named Angela Davids. He sat down on his usual crate, flipping through the book which had colorful pictures of birds. “Wow, I never knew birds could be so pretty,” he said as he turned to book so he could see the page he was looking at. It was page twelve and it was a picture of five parakeets of varying colors resting on a branch, but it was hard to tell whether it was birds in the wild, or an artificial enclosure.

“Did you know they’re in the parrot family?” Peter asked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that. He flipped to the page that detailed their eating habits. “Let’s see, it says here they feed on ripe and ripening seeds. Well, duh. I wanna make sure nothing is poisonous to them.”

James was sure he was talking more to the book than him, but he didn’t mind as he looked at the birds to see them roosting, and his mouth twisted in distaste. He reached over and tapped the cage, startling the sleeping birds as they flapped their wings to fly up to the small swing on top of the cage.

“Stop it,” Peter laughed, “leave them alone.”

James snorted. “These little beasts didn’t let me sleep last night, and payback is a bitch,” he said as he hit the cage once more. He froze as Peter smacked him with the paperback, all his muscles tensing as if in anticipation of stopping himself from a reaction. After a moment, he realized that he was fine, and was surprised when he didn’t feel the need to lash out. As for the teen, he didn’t seem to notice as he kept flipping through the book without really reading it.

“This doesn’t say if there’s anything that’s poisonous to them,” he sighed, closing the book with a snap.

James cleared his throat when Peter looked at him curiously. “You didn’t even read it all the way through. I thought you were supposed to be smart or something, yet you can’t even read through a book properly.”

Peter made a face. “I like books... its just that I prefer science and physics books.” He flapped the book in his hand toward him. “This is boring to me.”

James rolled his eyes and snatched the book out of his hand. “Fine, I’ll read it, but _you_ have to make sure to research what’s poisonous and bring it it’s food. I’m not exactly swimming in money here.”

The teenager grinned and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it and... oh, they’re probably thirsty!” He pulled off his backpack and from it he pulled a water bottle. “They have a water dish inside their cage,” he explained as he uncapped it and leaned forward, opening the small opening next to the water bowl and filling it up.

“So, have you thought of names for them?”

Peter shook his head, watching attentively as they flew down and started to drink the water. “Nah, but I’ll think of something.”

James rapped on the cage where the green one was. “You could name this one Jade,” he suggested.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah, that’s too generic. There’s probably hundreds of green parakeets named Jade.”

“What about Blu for the dark blue one?”

Peter laughed. “Like the movie?” When James nodded, he shook his head. “No way, that’s too boring and unimaginative. I’ll think of something cool. Maybe research bird legends or something,” he murmured, pulling out his phone and starting the search.

As he did that, James amused himself by making them fly back and forth in the cage. They’d likely eventually trust him, but for now they seemed frightened of him. Then he realized that he assumed he’d be around the birds long enough for them to get use to him and sighed. Damn it.

After almost half and hour of silence between the two humans, the parakeets not so quiet as they chirped their song, Peter lifted his head. “I got it!” He turned his phone, the screen impossibly cracked, so James could see it.

“Avalerion is a term for a heraldic bird.” James snorted. “It says here that they were also eagles. This is no eagle, it’s a parakeet.”

Peter shrugged. “Tomato, potato... same difference.”

“It’s really not.”

“Anyways!” Peter interrupted him. “I think the green one will be Avalerion, or Ava for short. And the white—“

“Light blue,” James corrected.

“It’s practically white!” Peter defended. “It reminds me of snow, so I’m gonna name it... er...” He peered into the cage to look at the bird. “I’m gonna name her Pamolai, which is a legendary bird spirit that appears in...” he squinted at his phone screen, “Abenaki mythology. This spirit causes cold weather. Or Pam for short.”

James shook his head. “And the dark blue one?”

Oh, that’s easy,” he said with a grin. “She’ll be Linnaeus, or Linn for short.”

James frowned. “I’ve heard that before...” He took up the book and flipped through it until he found the name. “Ah yeah, Carolus Linnaeus, founder of modern systematic botany and zoology.” He tapped the book against Peter’s head after closing it. “You just can’t have simple names, can you?”

Peter shrugged. “Simple is boring,” he argued.

“I think if you became a superhero or something, you’re name would be a complicated one.”

“Well yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t have a simple name. That’d be stupid.”

James grinned, knowing the boy was afraid of spiders. “How about Spider-Man?”

Peter shuddered. “Hell no, and Spider-Man?! Who’d name themselves that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on my instagram: [@phiodmuse](https://www.instagram.com/phiodmuse/)
> 
> There are pictures of the real Ava, Pam, and Linn.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment, please. Come on, y’all. Don’t make me beg... nah, just kidding. I don’t beg. Comment, ya heathens!


End file.
